Chapter Seven
on his shoulder, led the way across the cutover field. Why Meredith and David insisted on going with him to the cabin instead of waiting in safety, he didn’t understand. The one time he was willing to bear a burden, and no one took him up on it. Did they not think him capable? Hughes may have been knocked unconscious, but once he regained his wits, he’d be madder than a bear.
Patrick pushed the doubt away as they neared the old structure. Logs were saddle-notched together, but in between, the chinking had mostly washed away, leaving the interior vulnerable to critters and the elements. David leaned against the cabin, as ashen as the clouds hiding the sun. Meredith rubbed her belly, lines etched into her face. Emotion welled. He wanted to care for her, protect her, but that included her baby and that thought scared him.
No. Right now the best way he could help everyone was by making sure the cabin was safe.
Patrick borrowed David’s stick, lifted the latch, and eased open the door.
He pressed his nose into the crook of his elbow as the overwhelming smell of fermented grain churned his stomach. His father had smelled this way too many times to count. He couldn’t let it stop him, however. Meredith and David needed shelter.
He pushed inside, letting in the gray light. There, in the center of the one-room cabin, sat a still. A mouse skittered across the floor, leaving behind the fallen barley stalk it’d been nibbling on. Even though it was the only living creature here, was it safe to stay? The making and sale of alcohol was illegal. And then, the sight of another item in the room made his stomach drop.
The old coat in the corner. He’d seen it many times, and it further confirmed the fact they couldn’t stay here any longer than necessary. For he knew who used this cabin. Patrick returned outside, determined to get David patched up enough to leave as soon as possible.
Only, when he exited the cabin, a snowflake landed on his cheek. He looked up, and another flake caused him to blink. The snow had arrived, and if David was right about this storm—and as experienced a fisherman as he was, he was almost always right—their chance of escape had disappeared.
Meri felt the first snowflake before she saw the second. A smile lifted the corner of her mouth despite … well, everything. How could she not smile at the dot of perfection that melted as it landed on her mitten?
And then reality slammed into her. The snowstorm David had predicted. The one Mr. Alaric had telegraphed her father about the other day. It had hit his home in Minnesota hard, and he wanted his lumber camp to be prepared. In all likelihood, they would be snowed in with no way to get the lumber to the train until they cleared and watered the ice road.
It also meant she, Patrick, and David had a slim chance to even make the train, if it hadn’t already departed for safety by the time they arrived. She glanced at David, who had sunk to the base of the cabin’s outside wall, eyes closed, head resting on his upraised knee. His bad leg stretched out, the red stain soaking through the bandage. He needed treatment immediately. Making the train was out of the question.
Patrick returned, jaw set.
“What is it?” David used a single breath to voice the question, clearly barely holding on.
“We can’t stay here.” Patrick leaned the stick beside his brother. “If I work quickly, I can build us a shelter for the night. We’ll—”
“No.” Meri stepped between the brothers, facing Patrick so she could communicate her urgency without David noticing. “That wound needs attending now. We stay here until he’s … okay.”
Patrick pulled his stocking cap from his head, defeat rounding his shoulders.
Meri advanced until she stood toe-to-toe with him. “You’re doing exactly what needs to be done. And now you’ll do it again. Let’s get David into the cabin and—”
“That’s just it.” Patrick grabbed her arms. “This is an illegal still.”
“You think a policeman will happen upon us in the middle of a storm?”
“This is where your father gets his alcohol.”
“How—” Meri sagged. How else would he get it?
Patrick rubbed his hands over her coat sleeves. “I think it’s owned by your father.”
Meri pulled away. “Why would he do that? He has a great job. He has no need—”
“There’s a spare coat hanging on the wall. It’s his, Meri. I’ve seen him wear it.”
Meri shook her head, not wanting to believe it.
“And if this is your father’s still, it means he’ll find us, whether he knows to look for us here or not. We can’t stay.”
Meri looked over at David. “We have no choice, Patrick. Your brother needs help, and the snow is only going to get worse.”
His gaze roved the cutover landscape around them. She could almost see the wheels turning in his head.
“Patrick?” She rested a palm on his chest, the heavy coat muffling the pounding of his heart. He met her eyes. Warmth spread through her, giving her the courage to say, “You can do this. I trust you.”
Then she reached up and placed a kiss on his scruffy cheek.
Several hours later, night having descended, Patrick could finally revisit the kiss Meri had given him. He stood outside the cabin, his hand resting on the place where her lips had touched his cheek. Such a chaste, gentle kiss, but for all its simplicity, it had been a monumental gift. And it had touched him … deeply.
He paused before returning inside after visiting the outhouse. Snow fell in sheets, obscuring the cutover field and the forest beyond. The wind attempted to tuck snow under his coat. Then, when he turned up his collar, it smacked him in the face. Hopefully, it would also keep Hughes in camp, because they’d never see or hear him coming in this storm.
Both Meri and David slept inside. David’s wound had been bleeding again, and he’d passed out as Patrick dragged him inside, a blessing for the pain Meri put him through next. Meri had directed Patrick lay David on the floor under a window where she could see the wound better. She’d cleaned it using moonshine Patrick found in one of the jugs in the kitchen area. The wound was deep, what looked like a chunk taken from David’s leg, but not as bad as it could have been had the bullet pierced all the way through his thigh or lodged inside. Meri was able to get the ugly slash bandaged, but the effort had exhausted the last of her strength, and she’d laid down on the cot to rest.
The cabin, for all of its illegal contents, had the amenities they needed to survive the next day or two. Plenty of dried wood for the fireplace. A working water pump. Canned food in the pantry. Not much else, but they didn’t need anything else. Meri could have the cot with its threadbare blanket. David still lay unconscious under the window. And Patrick would keep watch.
The responsibility he’d artfully avoided for years had caught him unawares. It swirled around him like the wind, pressing in and threatening to undo him if he stepped out of line. And it wasn’t just any responsibility, like putting food on the table or seeing a girl home after a date. No, he had three lives completely dependent on him and danger bearing down in multiple forms.
This spring, he’d survived a tornado by lying in a ditch. It had been thrilling. Dangerous. Foolish. Not that he’d cared. He’d returned home expecting to taunt his brother with his exploit, to needle his grandmother that he’d survived without her interference. Only, his little sister had been injured in the storm, and his brother had nearly lost his life. It had been jarring to learn, and so he’d tucked his own experience away.
Now his brother was facing death again, this time because of Patrick’s choices. Not only his, of course. Had Patrick allowed Meri to face her father on her own, David wouldn’t be caught in the middle. Yet even now, he wouldn’t change what he’d done, and he knew David wouldn’t either. His brother was a hero. As for himself …
Patrick bowed his head, partially in deference to the icy wind, partially in prayer. He was out of practice, but after the last couple days, after the trust Meri and David placed in him, it pulled him back to his mother’s God, something not even that tornado had been able to do. If he didn’t want to be like his father, and fail in the duty laid upon his shoulders, then he needed help. God’s help.
Snow cut his cheeks, but somehow, the lash of snow felt necessary. As though it purged his inner turmoil. He crossed his arms and blinked as his vision blurred. His mother had loved Christmas. I feel closest to God at Christmastime, she’d always said, because the babe born in the manger was called Immanuel, God with Us. Surely, God had been with his mom. She was an angel, especially to a little boy like him. And when she was gone, the devil took her place in the face of his father. Drunken, despairing. Then he left.
Patrick sniffed, but it didn’t stop a tear from escaping and freezing on his cheek. The anger and hurt of the little boy inside swirled like the storm. He swore he would never be like his worthless father, but how was he any better? A man who avoided responsibility like a child? He might not fail those around him, but that was because he never allowed anyone to trust him, to think well enough of him to be disappointed. Yet he did let down his grandmother, his brother and sister. For all his efforts, he still hurt those closest to him. And that was shameful.
Would God be with the likes of him? He didn’t deserve it, no doubt about it. However, for Meri and David, surely God would intervene. Another of his mother’s sayings echoed in the wind. Or was it a Bible verse? It was good to make merry, for this one was lost, and now is found. Well, he felt as lost as ever.
With less than a week until Christmas, and a woman with child under his care, he couldn’t help but make a connection to the baby whose birth was celebrated at this time of year. How had Joseph felt, taking Mary to Bethlehem? Mary, who expected a baby who wasn’t Joseph’s? How had he felt when he received the warning to flee to Egypt lest the king kill Mary’s son? A story Patrick had forgotten until now.
Meri wasn’t Patrick’s wife and her baby wasn’t his, yet the protective emotion he felt for them overwhelmed him. Cold, danger—it didn’t matter. He’d do anything to keep them safe. The realization hit him like a gust from the blizzard. And he didn’t understand why. How had Meri come to mean so much to him in the weeks he’d spent watching her from afar and the couple of days he’d spent in her presence?
Her father. That had to be it. Not some misplaced attraction.
Ever since his own father had turned to drink, he could spot a drunk in an instant. He’d pegged Hughes from the first day, and had it not been for Mr. and Mrs. Nelson getting David, Kyle, and him the job, he would have walked away. He didn’t need a foreman like that. And Meri didn’t deserve a father like that.
A shiver convulsed his body—both from the weather and the emotion. Time go inside before he froze. He pulled open the cabin door, wrestling it shut behind him. Meri and David slept through the blast of icy wind that had followed him inside.
Patrick unwrapped his outwear, left his snowy boots by the door. Wished he could leave his thoughts there, too. He wasn’t settled in his soul, but if he didn’t come to terms with his own struggle, he wouldn’t do Meri and David any good. Patrick grabbed a stick to stoke the fire. He just didn’t know how to overcome his past. How to not be so … lost.